


like fire

by Murf1307



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Power Outage, Storms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 22:00:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1049066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Murf1307/pseuds/Murf1307
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trapped in a library during a hurricane, Enjolras has to deal with one of his biggest insecurities.</p>
            </blockquote>





	like fire

**Author's Note:**

> written for [this](http://antoinejeangros.tumblr.com/post/55884354542/myrtlewilson-i-feel-like-enjolras-would-have) tumblr prompt.

He should have expected it. He should have  _welcomed_ it.

After all, Grantaire is infuriating and terrible and constantly telling Enjolras that nothing can be done even as he keeps coming to meetings and — and —

This should be the final excuse for Enjolras to not fall in love with him.

But, of course, the damage is done.

They’re stormed in — the problem with an East Coast school during hurricane season. The power’s out, and they’re stuck in the library as the wind howls around them; it’s pitch dark until Grantaire flicks open his lighter — now, at least, they can see each other.

"Jesus Christ," Grantaire whispers. “You’re beautiful."

Enjolras’s stomach sinks and he turns away. “We’re probably going to be in here at least until tomorrow morning,” he says, ignoring the way his brain has  _beautiful_  whirring through over and over.

"Shit, Enjolras," Grantaire says. “Could you, um. Could you turn back toward me?"

Enjolras does it grudgingly to find that somehow Grantaire is balancing a sketchbook on his knees, one hand holding the lighter halfway between Enjolras and the book and the other clutching what looks like a thick black pencil.

"Just, uh, stay like that for a minute? You — I need to get you down on paper."

“ _Why?_ ”

Grantaire flinches at the way Enjolras’s voice is hard and harsh. “It’s like you’re fire. Or something. Shit, this was a bad idea, never mind, I’m gonna go hide in a corner until someone finds us.”

The lighter goes out, and Enjolras can only see hints of movement as Grantaire gets up.  _It’s like you’re fire._

"Wait," he says, quiet, almost hesitant. “Fire?"

"Fire, um. Yeah. Because, you know. The way the light was on your hair and, uh." Grantaire sounds nervous and confused. “Forget about it, I was being ridiculous."

Enjolras reaches over, slides up on his knees, and manages to curl a hand in Grantaire’s sleeve. “Thank you.”

Because Grantaire takes art very seriously — if he says something like this, here, he  _means it._  He’s not teasing or insulting; he actually thinks Enjolras is beautiful.

Grantaire puts his hand down on top of Enjolras’s in the dark. “You’re welcome?”

He sounds vulnerable. And Enjolras  _feels_  vulnerable, but he — he also feels like he can  _trust_  Grantaire, and that’s immense and wonderful and a little terrifying. So he reaches out with his other hand and says, gently laying it on Grantaire’s, “You — you can draw me, if you’d like.”

Grantaire inhales sharply. “I — okay.”

And the lighter comes back on.


End file.
